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We called him Uncle Ed, on account of his being my stepfather's mother's uncle. I lived part of the summer of 1968 in the same Eudora, Kansas house as that grandmother, and her husband Bud, and my cousin Eddie from Atlanta, and Uncle Ed, who was 98 then. He was born in 1870, and never married. I was told he was still quite sharp and independent (he lived in a walk-up, they told me) until a couple of years earlier. By the time I had met him, well, he was well on his way out. I doubt he remembered who I was from day to day. He had good genes for longevity, I suppose, but at least some of his staying power could be attributed to his taking such good care of himself. When he died, something like a year after that time I spent with him, he still had his own teeth. Four of them, I think it was.